


My Little Demon

by hakuzo_k



Category: Natsume Yuujinchou | Natsume's Book of Friends
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bigotry & Prejudice, Drama, Fluff, Hair, Humor, Intimacy, M/M, Master/Servant, Romance, Touch-Starved, Youkai!Natsume
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2018-11-29 07:07:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 17,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11435709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hakuzo_k/pseuds/hakuzo_k
Summary: To obtain a youkai as a servant, something must be offered. This youkai already knows what he wants—Matoba's hair.





	1. The Strange Youkai’s Strange Request

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kou_91](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kou_91/gifts).



Hair can be used for transactions with youkai. Specifically, hair cut from the human’s head. 

When making a deal with a youkai, Matoba fully expects this transaction. He will cut his hair, the youkai accepts, and then it will become a new servant to him and the clan.

Except… the youkai doesn’t want it cut. Yes, it wants the hair, but it must remain attached so that it can play with it when it liked.

Matoba’s brows furrow, befuddled by the strange request. Perhaps it is better than the alternative. This way the youkai can’t conduct its own leverage and magic.

The offer is accepted and Matoba then gains a new, strong servant: a simple horned demon with white-silver hair and green summer eyes. The being is beautiful, but its gaze is still unnerving, following. Its expression, too, is careful as it watches its new master. Despite this, the black-haired exorcist strengthens his resolve, beckoning the demon to follow. It blinks widely, eyes trained on the hair collected over Matoba’s shoulder before it slips down and behind his back.

They enter a room, dimly lit. Human and ayakashi line the walls, awaiting the decision and their new ally. A blank wooden placard is gathered by a human attendant, along with an ink slab and brush to be laid upon the chabudai for the clan head’s use. He directs the demon to sit before the tools, instructing it to write a name.

“Natsume,” the voice croaks quietly. The attendants, both exorcists and ayakashi, look to one another with gossip and intrigue. With the demon announcing this name, it calls to question if it understood the process of exorcist service. All ayakashi know to never sign away their real names. It is a true and dangerous enslavement; no order could be denied. Even the exorcists abide by this rule; it is unjust. Because of this, the exorcist would assign a new name. It holds no power over the servant; it is only to address and authorize the contract.

The demon only looks to Matoba, green eyes steady and knowing.

“You cannot use your real name,” the clan head advises, searching the demon’s face for any trickery.

“It is not,” it bristles, offended. “I am not naive. I prefer this name.”

After a few more moments assessing the youkai, Matoba reluctantly concedes. It does not even request the name, but simply _states_ it. This youkai is confident and experienced. Despite its young appearance, it could be hundreds of years old. It _must_ know that names hold power. Beautiful and powerful and _stubborn_.

“Then please sign your name,” Matoba grits through teeth. Across the room, he hears his advisor’s disapproval in a harsh sigh.

In its own writing, a universal writing system constructed by and for ayakashi, it signs the announced name. When the ink quickly dries, the demon stands from the chabudai, wooden contract in both hands to present to the exorcist. Matoba looks over the placard—‘ _Natsume_ ’—before taking it from the youkai’s hands. The creature stares at him, green eyes wide and expectant. _The exchange._

Matoba’s lips twitch, a little bemused, but mostly apprehensive. With a motion to a nearby attendant, the contract is taken from him. Matoba loosens his shoulders (having become stiff again when green targeted him). The tied back hair is then brought to the front to present to the demon.

Talon-like fingernails carefully scratch down the exorcist’s fingers. Matoba shivers. They pull away, and the sharp nails easily slice the cloth hair tie. Black, silky strands splay across the man’s shoulder and chest. Now with both hands, the demon collects the hair, letting the black slip through when opening its fingers. 

“It’s beautiful,” the demon whispers to Matoba. The exorcist shudders out a breath. Eyes slowly trail upward through long eyelashes (enchanting and damning and dangerously calculating). The quiet and attention given to Matoba is as if he is the only other being in the room. Eyes never breaking, a hand cards through the hair. There is a grin on the demon’s face when it continues, “This is mine.”

The exorcist doesn’t dare nod, and instead blinks in affirmation. He isn’t sure if he is frightened or mesmerized. The youkai understands the gesture, expression softening, smile stretching lips.

“And you are my master.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kou is to blame for… basically this whole fic. Thanks.


	2. How to Learn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Each have to learn at their own pace, through their own methods.

The contract is simple in writing, but there is much left unsaid on criteria and rules. And because there aren't any, it is free game for the youkai.

Ayakashi and spirits have always been troublesome. Hence why there are exorcist communities and bounties for the menacing. Seldom there may be some deemed as benevolent, but deep down, in their nature, they're abhorrent. So when a taloned hand reaches toward Matoba, he recoils and jerks his attention to the offender. The youkai doesn't withdraw or apologize. It scrunches its face, eyes hard, disappointed and irritated. Although beautiful, it is often intimidating.

A contract is a contract. Matoba relents, looking off to not watch the claws sink into his hair. They drag through and _down_ , the slight brush of a nail down the back. The exorcist can't contain his shiver. Regardless if the youkai noticed or not, another stroke is sent through the hair. Matoba is not used to this sensation. When younger, he received pats on his head from peers or his mother rubbing strands with her fingers. This is different. It's uncomfortable, an intrusion he has to endure.

When a tip of a nail slides behind his ear, Matoba shuts his eyes, heart pounding. The demon won't kill him, he tries to reason with himself. But he always recalls its utterance of possession.

" _This is mine."_

 

 

This is Natsume's first clan meeting. Matoba glances to the youkai beside him, adorned in a polished off-white kimono and black haori, face shielded with a paper seal. A green eye peeks up through the side-opening, quiet and curious.

It has been a little longer than a week. Early on, it was determined that Natsume is not offensive. Since then, training with the youkai has been slow. It's not that he is disobedient, just cautious. The council has not determined what role he should play just yet, but they are partial to somehow usual the strong aura.

"Please remain quiet and keep your movements minimal."

Natsume simply blinks in reply before following Matoba's lead. Other exorcists and familiars fill the room with soft, but dull, conversation. He stays close to his new master, unsure of the guests and the possibility of straying in the unfamiliar place.

It doesn't take long for the youkai to become disinterested in behaving. The black-haired exorcist is absorbed with another, nodding in agreement to a part of the conversation. The tied-back hair just lies there, untouched and smooth and enticing. Natsume blinks, looking up to the human and back to the strands. No notice. The sharp nails scrape up the ends. It _is_ his…

"Ah—" comes a short grunt from Matoba. There is a tug on his hair. He grimaces to himself, dismayed that his peace did not last long. Of course. "Don't pay him any mind," Matoba reassures the other exorcist. "He is still in training." It is a poor excuse, one he readily uses too often.

The two continue talking, but the youkai's touching is _very_ distracting. Natsume has since moved closer during the conversation, knuckles kneading into his back. Strands are twirled over and under his fingers and palm, gently tugging down. Much of the time the hair is smoothed out, then pet. The exorcist's skin crawls with a cold shiver. As much as he wishes he could dismiss or scold the youkai, this is part of the contract. Unfortunately, but not regrettably (he hopes).

Natsume continues the movement, through untangled hair, silk-like and lustrous. ' _It's nice_ ,' he thinks with a stoic face. He wants to do more with it, but he can easily see and hear his master's tenseness.

Eventually the guest departs from estranged conversation. Yet, Matoba has to remain in place. Looking over his shoulder, Natsume is still mesmerized, tenderly rubbing strands between two fingers. But he informs the demon, "Come now. I must do my own duties," the obligation to carry on.

Summer green eyes blink out of its trance, glancing up to the looming exorcist. In that moment, the youkai tries to assess him, but it remains business-like, distant, and undeterred. It's hard to place where their relationship is now. The safest route is as this. "I will follow."

A lopsided grin is returned. For the purpose of tending to the hair is unsaid, of course. It can't possibly be that fun. Natsume is just an eccentric youkai, after all.


	3. Comforts of Humans and Youkai

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When routine is formed.

The obsession has always been there, but there has been a new level added to it lately. The shiki—Natsume—often (nearly all the time) tends to Matoba's hair. Petting, twirling, twisting, pulling, playing, feeling. (On top of this, Natsume has the authority to do this whenever he likes. Meetings, consultations, meals, after bathing, walking.) It's a surprise that his hair hasn't been severely damaged. For the times a few strands have been broken off, a small, panicked gasp is heard behind his back.

Just recently, when Matoba has thought to be familiar with the stimulation, he has been reminded that this is a dangerous being.

His fingernails (always polished and pointed sharp like bird talons) are introduced. When the fingers comb through the black hair, they poke into Matoba's back. At first it is reasoned that it was an accident. Matoba shivers, Natsume notices. ( _Curious_.) They're deliberately,  _slowly_  dragged down the master's shoulder and back due to the hair's length, then to the top, and  _again_.

The exorcist has to pretend he doesn't notice. (How dare a youkai have the best of him.) He restrains the shivers, both creeped and pleasant. Again, Matoba isn't used to these touches. It's a very strange newness. Sometimes, he'll catch himself delightedly anticipate the nails.

And yes, overtime, enjoys it.

 

 

Some nights, when a case occupies thought or a deadline is quickly approaching, Matoba will take work to his room. There's a decently sized chabudai, always an organized mess of paper and folders and writing tools.

And, as always, the horned shiki will follow in after some time. Matoba knows he only does so to bother and distract him. When it first happened, the youkai kept distance; now, he purposely moves closer.

Natsume has snuggled up behind, which makes Matoba immediately freeze up. Next, it escalates to wrapping an arm around his waist. Matoba doesn't know how to address this. (How and why and when it has learned and thought appropriate to do so.) Eventually, it leads to Natsume minding the long ponytail.

Yet, gradually, they have become comfortable with this closeness. Matoba works, and Natsume contently strokes the hair. The youkai is insistent, trying more things. He rests his head against the back of the exorcist's shoulder, sighing (often too close to his neck). After sometime, satisfied of the distraction, Natsume gets up, leaving without a word.

That happens far too many times.

One night is much different. The youkai doesn't remain quiet; he  _speaks_ , or more accurately,  _whispers_  to himself.

"...soft." He sighs, content. There's a heaviness against Matoba's shoulder. "Mhm…"

Quiet.

Unnerved, Matoba tilts his head, finding a head of silver hair resting, breathing softly, on his back. Its hands loosely grip the black hair. Did he fall asleep? Youkai don't need sleep like humans, though. It's meant to be of leisure, boredom, or of comfort. The breathing is even and soft, tickling through Matoba's hair to his neck. He turns back to the desk, pen in hand to set on the paper. A slow blink.

_Tired_.

Matoba carefully lowers down to rest his head in his arms on the table. The youkai continues to lean into him. More gradual blinks, fatigue reaching him, and he decides. Nanase will later scold him for the bad posture either way.

He may as well sleep, too.


	4. Boundaries of Humans and Youkai

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When routine is broken.

"Don't move," the silver-haired youkai hisses, black strands filtered through slender fingers.

"I know."

"Don't talk, either."

It has become a regular occurrence for them. Not just the small banter, but the accompanying intimacy. After some time, Matoba has construed time limits of his hair, and the demon agreed to it. But even with these rules in place, Natsume seeks out his master. Entering his master's room, with a look Matoba knows very well by now, he'll pull his hair-tie off without a word. Resuming work, Natsume creeps behind and settles, stroking the black stands and snuggling into the exorcist's back.

(Matoba finds that he brings work to his room more for these affairs, as well.)

And sometimes, Natsume will want to touch Matoba's hair at night. There is no pattern to determine why and when, unfortunately. Natsume casually enters the exorcist's room, as per usual, finding the hair splayed across the futon and pillow. Matoba often rouses when he enters, the aura too stifling to dismiss. He'll hum his acknowledgment and be lulled back to sleep by the tender brushes.

When the youkai slips into the futon with him one night, Matoba freezes—confused and nervous and angry. A head nudges into his back, hands quickly locating the ponytail. The breathing behind him is mellow and quiet. Thumbs absentmindedly rub the strands. He feels much closer than before, than ever.

Natsume falls asleep before Matoba, and he wonders if this is such a good thing after all. He doesn't sleep that night.

 

 

"You're being too lax with him," Nanase scolds, eyes looking over the stick arrangement, clipping off an unneeded twig. "He's become too comfortable. Who knew you would spoil a shiki."

Matoba pouts lopsidedly, not partial to Nanase's ever-observance. "He is a strange youkai. I thought to try something different."

"Well…" the old woman sighs, adjusting the stick's position. "He hasn't hindered any of our objectives, and is well-received. He hasn't caused any trouble. With you, that is fine—you need to continue refining your own skills and mindfulness." She chuckles. "As strange as it sounds, perhaps he is reminding you of your own humanity. Don't become a demon yourself."

"Very funny, Nanase," Matoba smiles with false praise through teeth. He leaves the gray-haired woman to her peaceful hobby, more heated than he thought. Proposing that he spoils the youkai doesn't settle well. He's a leader, meant to be respected, not used. Especially by a  _demon_.

 

 

Matoba doesn't have a short temper, but he does not have extensive patience. He enjoys his solitude. With Nanase's observation fresh in mind, he especially needs to not be bothered.

Per the contract, even with the agreement recently constructed, that isn't possible. The horned youkai makes his presence known with his aura. It immediately dulls down when feeling Matoba's irritation. Softly, socked feet pad over, kneeling to sit beside the exorcist. The man refuses to acknowledge him. Natsume presses his arm against the other's. It pulls away to needlessly adjust an item on the table. The other hand flips over a report's page to the next. Green eyes glance from the paper to Matoba's stoic face.

"You don't have work today," Natsume reminds Matoba, fingers lightly pulling on the exorcist's haori. There is nothing of importance today. It's Sunday—the one day a week Matoba can relax and give Natsume his undivided attention.

"Please do not disturb me. Go train with the other shiki."

Natsume blinks, surprised by the abrupt tone, before his brows furrow. "Am I disturbing you if you were doing nothing in the first place?" Matoba whips his head to the side, angry at the accusation from his shiki. But the youkai moves quickly. He extends his arms across Matoba's lap, crawling over it, bumping into the table to disturb the 'work'. Brushes and an ink bottle rattle on the table. Natsume stumbles over to Matoba's right side, half in his lap, pressing his body onto the exorcist's chest. The green eyes are blazing with offense.

"You really lack discipline," Matoba seethes, returning the look.

"And whose fault is that?"

The exorcist immediately frowns, contemplation growing dark. Was Natsume listening to Nanase and him talking this morning?

"Get off of me and leave," Matoba mutters darkly, eye harsh and stern.

The demon stares back and purses his lips, surely about to say something, but pushes off and away from the exorcist. Matoba grunts from the force. He catches his breath quickly, but he could not scold the shiki one more time; Natsume left, as ordered.

From day to dusk to night, there is no sight of the horned demon. Matoba can't sleep that night.

 

 

Unfortunately, there is a small exorcist gathering the next day. On top of his irritation with Natsume, Matoba is unprepared and sleep-deprived. He tries to stifle a yawn, covering his mouth with a sleeve before folding his hands back together.

"It's been a couple months since your newly obtained shiki. How has that been?"

"Decent. It's stubborn."

"That's unfortunate. It looked promising. Doesn't it typically follow you, though?"

Yes, he typically does, Matoba wants to respond bitingly, yet he has not seen the silver-haired demon at all today. Now that he is used to the attention to his hair, he feels even more off. Was the demon planning this dependence? "It's taking a break," he offers instead.

"Oh. Well, it must be better now."

Matoba furrows his brows, following the direction of the guest's gaze. Natsume has slipped into the small banquet, black robe donned and seal tied around his head, stepping towards him. When finding his master's gaze on him, Natsume stops, diverting green eyes elsewhere. Matoba huffs to himself, attention back to the other man. The demon cautiously blinks over.

"I suppose."

They are  _both_ stubborn.

When hearing the tenseness in Matoba's voice, the subject is dropped and the guest exorcist leaves. Matoba, too, steps away, feeling Natsume's gaze on him. Now, he can hear feet shuffle closer behind him, feels a pinch at the haori's back.

"I'm busy, Natsume."

The youkai bites his bottom lip, glaring at the exorcist's back. He  _isn't_ , but he will hold his tongue for now. "I am here per the contract." A firm tug on the tip of the black hair.

Matoba angles away. "Not now."

Natsume bristles, nearly hisses. A sharp fingernail scratches at his own haori. "This isn't urgent." His hands itch to either grab the human's hair or his robes ( _to cast down and scratch and injure_ ).

"You do not have the authority to deem my business's priority."

"I do have  _input_ ," Natsume throws back, a quiet snarl, canines so slightly bared. "Are you breaking the contract, exorcist?"

Now, Matoba faces the youkai. The insolence is grating his already frayed nerves. "Many times you have crossed boundaries with an exorcist and his work. Should I have you put on probation until you're deemed fit to work by the council?"

"I am more than capable compared to your useless man-made shiki, even those that have been coerced here. Don't pretend I have no autonomy; it's the reason I'm here." A smug grin. "How else would you obtain such a respectable servant?"

Eyes turn to the dispute. Matoba tuts to himself. This can't go on any longer. This needs to be stifled. "You are not acting like a respectable shiki now, are you?" A hand reaches out to the demon's horn, holding firm and secure.

Natsume promptly panics, bold resolve immediately dropping. "D-Don't—"

Horns are known to be sensitive. They are regarded and groomed to upkeep the appearance and their power. Having another take control, or obstruct them, is very personal and very intimate. The effect varies per owner and the counterpart—painful, tingling, tickling, pleasurable, comfort.

All Matoba knows is that it has a desirable effect of submission. He regards Natsume's red face, hands feebly trying to remove the hold. "Come with me." He releases the horn and leads them out of the room into a connected vacant hallway.

Natsume has his hands covering his horns, face red and cowered. His lips tremble as he speaks. "Y-You can't… do that."

"Natsume," Matoba starts, cutting him off. Natsume whimpers softly, bracing for a scolding or discipline. "It is fine if you talk back to me, but only in  _private_." Glassy green eyes blink at the exorcist, now engrossed in his words. "Your attitude and actions are considered disrespectful among these exorcists. I know our arrangement is different, and I have allowed much leniency because of it."

"You were upset yesterday…"

"I was," the exorcist sighs. "As you know, it is difficult adjusting. I do not receive a lot of contact, and now I am—from a youkai." Natsume looks away, afflicted again. It is not Matoba's intent to insult or hurt him; it is simply what they are, what has happened. "...I am unfamiliar with this. Please be patient with me."

For a moment, the silver-haired youkai ruminates before shaking his head. "...I know you're not. I thought you would be. Your aura made me think so."

"My aura…" Matoba chuckles. "Do I feel that alone?"

Natsume smiles, but it's sad. He doesn't say it, doesn't need to, so Matoba deflects.

"Nevertheless, if this happens again," his hand reaches for the previously held horn, assessing Natsume's face— _shy_ , but vigilant and anticipating. It's grasped much more delicately this time. Natsume trembles in place, cheeks a controlled pink, and eyes acknowledging. "I will gently remind you."

Once Matoba pulls his hand away, Natsume releases a heavy breath, continuing eye contact as he bows his head. "Yes, Master."


	5. Hair Rituals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matoba humors his shiki too much. With that, there are mainly setbacks.  
> ...and maybe a little gain.

One place that should have granted Matoba solace is the bath, but it has turned into another method for the hair-obsessed demon. He watches and mimics the washing and bathing behavior. Soap from a plastic bottle with a pump is slathered onto the wet, bare body. The white suds drip off onto the floor, the rest rinses off from a showerhead.

Natsume blinks, follows the same method. He scrunches his face in surprise when a sud slaps him on the chin. It's rubbed away before Matoba questions the youkai of his sudden exclamation.

Soap from another pump in a red bottle is massaged into Matoba's scalp, trailing down the length, fingers combing through. Natsume stares wide-eyed, mesmerized by the hair's wet shine.

"I want to do that," he blurts out, hands already reaching the length of hair.

"...Wash my hair?" Matoba questions, reading the near-frenzied look on Natsume's face. He will do anything and everything for this hair. The youkai nods fervently, digits already tugging the ends, combing through from the bottom up. Matoba watches him for a moment—focused and meaning with the strands. When the hands reach near his neck, his eyes trail off.

When timing permits, the eye seal can be removed. It's both liberating and confining. He wants to duck his head away. He doesn't want a youkai anywhere near his eyes.

"Natsume," the exorcist interrupts. The demon pauses, blinking lashes up to him, trying to peer through the black curtain of hair to the face. Faintly, he can see an old scar—above the eyelid and below the softness of the eye socket.

Disheartened, but Natsume understands. Even with their progress, a demon is a demon. "Okay." The hands pull away reluctantly, and the exorcist turns away to wash the front of his hair.

 

 

The first time Matoba touches Natsume's hair is in the bath.

"You even wash my hair," Matoba chuckles, fingerpads rubbing into his scalp. They were conversing over strange things they notice the other enjoys. Natsume's fixation is arguably the strangest.

Natsume purses his lips tightly and huffs. "You would understand if you tried it."

So, Matoba does.

"I was joking," Natsume tries to defend himself quivering, but the fingers press into his scalp. His eyes shut and he catches himself from falling into a purr. The hand is damp, soaking into silver hair. The sound of spraying water reaches his ears before his hair is doused with the lower setting. It tickles his horns, but there is a conscious effort to mind them.

Natsume peeks open an eye, finds Matoba already making suds out of the liquid shampoo. The anticipation both frightens and excites him. The youkai shivers when hands meet the hair, rubbing the soap delicately among the strands, deep into the scalp. Their silence is unnerving, but neither find the words to say something. Entranced and cautious is better than admitting the uncertainty.

The head massage nearly makes Natsume doze off. With an unprecedented rub against the base of a horn, the demon gasps, eyes shooting open. Immediately his hands swat away the other's to cover the bone. "Don't do that." It's a weak glare, but he needs to convey that it does upset him. (More so, embarrassed that is has excited him.)

"I apologize. I can stop." Matoba's hands pull back, honoring the youkai's sensitivity.

Natsume presses his lips into a tight line, glancing over to mull for a moment. He doesn't expect the quick apology and was prepared to reprimand the action. "Please just be careful…"

Hesitantly, the hands pull back, bone-white horns revealed again. Matoba resumes the washing, watching his fingers sink into white and silver. The smell of camellias is strong and tranquilizing. He finds a flush has now extended to Natsume's ears, but doesn't comment on it.

"You're right. It's very nice."

The youkai grunts in response, melting again to the rhythmic touches.

But, belatedly, Natsume should have told Matoba to use a different shampoo. This smell is driving him crazy. Long after the bath and rest and to the following morning, Natsume has kept a flustered glow. Matoba wonders if youkai can become sick. Natsume doesn't offer an answer either, seemingly unsure why the redness has lasted so long.

When Matoba steps closer to inspect, he thinks he may have solved the mystery.

"Camellias smell great, don't they? Like master, like servant."

If Natsume wasn't as a loss for words, he would have said something back. But, it is true. Natsume clenches fists into his haori. Camellias do smell great, and his hair smells just like Matoba's.

Since then, Natsume has been diligent about Matoba's hair care. It is like having a personal stylist, but the stylist can do whatever and whenever to his hair. Oftentimes Matoba's smartphone will go missing partly do to this recent development. When finding it in Natsume's possession the first time, it is a surprise. Now it may as well be Natsume's own. The search history all contains the word "hair" along with another keyword.

Natsume is since then adamant on hair products and hair care. Being a spirit, he can't go out and obtain these objects himself, so (with permission from Matoba) he will purchase products online. When trying to leave the bath, the youkai presses Matoba into trying a new leave-in conditioner.

Other days, including consultation and free time, the demon likes to try to braid his hair or try other down-styles. (The up-styles are now in private since the last time Natsume tried he spilled ink on the table when flipping Matoba's hair.)

One morning Matoba does wake up with a surprise. Natsume sits up straight and perked at the end of the futon, waiting for his master's word. For some reason, his scalp feels too tight. Matoba reaches up to scratch the back of his head, instead finding a new style; a thick french-braid. Apparently Natsume has done this during the time he visited the prior night after bath,  _after_  lulling him to sleep with the hair stroking.

"You must have thought I was tugging a lot."

"It's too tight. I have a headache." Matoba takes out the hair tie despite Natsume's protest. After untangling the divided pieces, Matoba realizes horrifically that it is going to stay as a wavy mess. The hair was still damp when he fell asleep. Nanase has always scolded him for this—maybe now this will give him incentive to listen. ('If you don't dry your hair before bed, a demon will make it into a messy braid.')

On the contrary, Natsume's green eyes sparkle at a new aspect of his master's hair.

Turns out that a braid does come in handy with archery practice. But the bell-shaped flowers that Natsume twines in is still unnecessary.


	6. The Lazy Exorcist and His Accompanying Shiki

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sundays are for leisure, not to be chided for his (questionable) fashion choices.

When there are days Matoba wants to relax after work, he'll don his navy blue sweats and short-sleeved hoodie. They're comfortable, roomy, and flexible. The best days are when it is very cool out. Slipping on a pair of loafers, personal mug (no need for fancy kettles and cups) in hand, he will lounge and read in that attire. Oftentimes he will nod off.

That's probably why Nanase allows the horned shiki to slip around from time to time when he has personal time. Stay alert; don't get too comfortable, or lazy.

Little does she know the demon will more often than not aid the lazing. He listens to Matoba above all, after all. If he has an order, it will always trump Nanase's. So the clan head will wave off Nanase's warning in the form of this shiki and beckon him over.

This time, Natsume takes one look and scrunches his face, upset about something.

"I don't like your clothing."

Lifting his arms and twisting side to side to take a look, but with nothing out of place (like a stain or hole) Matoba inquires, "This?" He pinches the collar of the dark blue hoodie, looking quizzically at the youkai. "I've worn this before. What's so different about it now?"

"I hate the hood part. It gets in the way."

Of Natsume playing with Matoba's hair.

Matoba raises his brows, smirk pulling up his lips. "Oya? I should just keep wearing it then. Maybe I can finally relax in peace."

Natsume pushes out his lips in a pout, eyes narrowing. "You can't do that."

The exorcist hums a sigh in turn, flipping over a page in his book. "I can. Thank you for letting me know about your preferences, Natsume. I will be sure to wear this more often. Maybe now I can enjoy my extracurricular activities."

The youkai huffs at himself, but Matoba's hears the exasperation. Then, Natsume promptly plops down behind him, like always, and pulls down the long black hair to mind. But as he said, the bump of the clothing—the hood—gets in the way of running fingers smoothly down the back. After a few more tries, Natsume decides on a different angle, persistent on not letting his master win.

Slipping into the exorcist's lap, Natsume reaches around the other's neck to bring the hair to front.  _There,_ he thinks satisfied. The hair lies against Matoba's chest as he strokes down and through.

Matoba releases his own exasperated exhale. Now it's even harder for him to read. He has to maneuver and peer over the youkai in his lap. But since their last exchange, Natsume makes it difficult for him; bumping into his chin, whacking the book or pages out of place.

Nanase is right after all… The youkai is a good obstructor.

After an exasperated sigh, the demon pulls back his hands, resuming the petting of the hair.

Feeling a gaze on him, Matoba peers down, finding searching green eyes on him. Flustered at being caught, Natsume looks away, eyes half-lidded, resting his head on the man's chest.

When the human becomes immersed in reading, Natsume presses deeper into the cotton-clad chest. Tilting his head, he grazes his horns in attempt to find the best way to rest them. Instead, a pleasant hum rumbles out of his throat, and the motion is continued, prompting more pleasant sparks in his mind and down his arms. Hands grip into the navy sweater, dragging down to find an opening along the waist. He tucks his hands through, discovering it as a pocket.

Matoba glances down, notices Natsume's head nuzzling into his chest. He hopes he isn't rubbing anything gross or strange onto him. Bending forward to grab a page marker on the desk, the exorcist folds the shiki in his lap, inciting a small whine. When he looks again, the youkai's eyes are hardly open, seemingly glaring at Matoba's chest, lips pulled into a pout.

"Just now, were you rubbing your horns on my chest? You seemed to be enjoying it." The exorcist taps a finger on Natsume's ear. The shiki shakes his head, rubs at the touched ear. With pink cheeks warmed by heat and embarrassment, Natsume nods.

Placing the book onto the desk, Matoba continues with the curiosity. The horns are sensitive. Since the harshness with them to the accidental light touch in the bath, he has been mindful to avoid it. "What does it feel like? Why do you like it?"

Sometimes it can feel… Very nice. Just like now. Everything is warm and soft and quiet. Natsume almost falls asleep at the recent memory. "The sensation depends on my mood and type of stimulation." Of course if he was irritated it wouldn't have been as enjoyable. Like this, it is. Hands fist inside of the cotton pockets of the hoodie.

"...Right now, it's comforting."

( _They're not like master and servant at all._ )


	7. Master's Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Busier times mean changes to Matoba's, and consequently Natsume's, routine.

Part of the demon's (self-assigned) routine is to brush his master's unruly hair from sleep. The amount of time spent on the brushing averages to ten minutes. Not crucial, but it can be harrowing to the human's schedule of dressing and eating. It is when the master oversleeps or is in a hurry, that that task is taken from him. Matoba will comb through his hair, too roughly in Natsume's opinion.

It's never with care and it greatly upsets Natsume. The groan of the brush ripping through precious, smooth hair grates the demon's ears. The words burst out of his mouth without thought.

"Don't mistreat it! It's mine."

Although still drowsy from sleep, Matoba blinks down to the troubled shiki. The concern and pout the shiki wears, along with the furrowed brows, is endearing. It causes a small smile to tug at his lips. Because he isn't completely coherent, the hair brush is easily snatched from his hands and an audible gasp is heard.

As suspected, there are broken strands, both perfect and damaged, caught around the bristles.

Sensing the demon's grief, Matoba interjects, hoping that it may ease the oncoming scolding. "That's inevitable. It will happen no matter what."

But Natsume continues staring at the brush in frustration, dismissing Matoba's words. No matter what they do, the strands will come out every day; that is the way it is, the human says. The frown on the demon's face only deepens, pondering what can be done.

Well, he'll have to take this hair situation into his own hands, Natsume decides.

With a swat to Matoba's outstretched hand and a fierce look, Natsume presses close to overpower the exorcist, causing them to collapse to the floor. Matoba hisses when his head collides with the wooden flooring, but Natsume is too determined to assess his master's injury in favor of climbing on top. He will stroke the promised hair  _his_ way. Sharpened nails scoop the long black hair, pulling it forward to stroke through. But the gesture and motion must have been too fast, too rough. Some strands get caught on a talon, and they  _snap_.

Natsume halts and stares incredulously at the broken hair in his hand. His light green eyes are blank and distant, not wanting to accept the reality of what happened by his own hands.

Unphased and knowing, Matoba sighs. "See?"

The youkai unwraps the hair from his nails, tucking it safely into his palm, before straightening himself. With a huff and a harsh look down at the human, he berates again, "You don't appreciate it. You don't savor it."

Exasperated and fatigued, Matoba exhales. He knows that he cannot sway or win this battle. They seem to match each other in stubbornness. If Matoba wants to make his appointments on time, he will need to swallow today's pride. "I don't have time to savor it."

And he knows both his schedule and Natsume's mood will be getting worse from here on.

 

 

Some days Matoba becomes absorbed and bombarded with requests and work. And those days, Natsume isn't able to meet with his master, at the very least to tug at the end of the black ponytail. They're lonely days. Boring, too. Even at night it's difficult to mind Master's hair. He's dead tired, slipping into a futon with a faint 'goodnight', hair wet and skin cold from a shower and no bath.

" _Ow_ ," Matoba hisses, pulling away from the hands that slipped through his hair. This has been happening as of late. It's becoming too much for Matoba to keep dismissing. Sending a sideways glare to Natsume, he informs, "That hurts, you know."

Due to the contract with this demon, Matoba's hair has gotten longer. It's past the middle of his back now. He likes to keep it in a ponytail to keep it out of the way, but with Natsume's constant rituals of brushing and minding, oftentimes it is left splayed on his back. Unfortunately the issue isn't something as simple as allowing him to tie the hair back.

It's Natsume's nails, coupled with his excitable aggression, when stroking his hair. It's dangerous to not be wearing a top when he is in one of these moods. Even then, a common shirt's thickness won't stop the tear of a talon ripping down his back.

Natsume pouts his lips, pausing his hands and staring at Matoba's back. For everything this exorcist makes him do (hunts and surveillance and meetings and bounties and blessing houses), he can endure such a simple tribulation. Natsume pulls his hands the rest of the way through the hair, purposely digging a nail in. Another hiss in reply.

"Our contract did not state there would be an absence of pain, Master Matoba."

_Cheeky_ , Matoba thinks to himself. "What did I do to warrant this pain?"

"This is not pain," Natsume immediately snaps back. "This is my happiness. Do you not want me to be happy, Master?"

Matoba stifles a curse, then a groan, at another frenzied stroke. The tone is anything but happy. The last swipe is intentional. "No, I want you to be happy."

"Then don't… forget about me." The stroking stops, tugging the hair at mid-length.

Nodding proves to be futile. Instead, Matoba has to admit the response aloud. "I won't forget you."

From then, Matoba learns the differences of Natsume's strokes. Excited, calm, withdrawn, irritated, shy, absentminded. Unfortunately, there are still instances when Natsume scratches his back. But on accident. He's just excited to be minding his master again.

For the time, it seems like Natsume has forgiven Matoba.

 

 

Now that the busy spell has died down for Matoba, Natsume is able to return nightly greetings. The door is always opened quietly, toes careful across the floor. There's a pressure, a presence, on the other side of the futon. It descends down, finding its place behind Matoba's back. Although the hair was minded not too long ago, hands slide up the back, curling into the strands. The hair is pulled down and straightened, the ends curled around a finger.

Funny how these gestures once gave Matoba much anxiety and now it lulls him to sleep. He breathes, even and slow.

_Comfortable_ , Natsume thinks, remembers. He watches the rise and fall of the man's shoulder from his breathing.  _He is, too_. Shutting his eyes, hair in hand, Natsume tips his head forward, letting the horns graze the back. With no reaction or scolding, he pulls closer, continuing the motion, and sighs. The hair is gripped tightly in hand; he doesn't dare tug it and alert Matoba what he is doing.

Despite how comfortable this transaction is for them both, something is off. There is a spike of spiritual power in the air. Matoba blinks his eyes open, now more aware of a pair of something prodding him in the back. It's solid and smooth, the end of the tips rounded sharp. With a soft exhale from behind, he can make a very well-educated guess. He doesn't interrupt right away. He will let Natsume enjoy this for some moments before having his curiosity staved further.

Natsume sighs again, a little heavier. Hands leave the hair in favor of gripping the kimono, the hold securing the pressure he strived for.

When the horns begin to press deeper into his back, Matoba then decides that maybe Natsume won't notice. Half turning his body, twisting his back and head, he regards the demon nuzzling into the bottom of his shoulder blades a little longer. It has become more aggressive. Are they itchy?

Due to the heat and feeling, the cheeks are reddened, eyes shut in a combination of content and need. Natsume didn't realize how satisfying this could be. He wants to fall asleep, but also stay awake and continue the pleasure. A deep hum vibrates from his throat.

It doesn't seem like Natsume will notice.

A hand reaches around. Only an inch away, and a growl starts. The movement stops.

"Don't touch them."

Matoba narrows his eyes and pushes his lips into a pout. Almost. He  _almost_  wants to defy that snarl, brush a finger on the oddly sensitive bone, because of that commanding voice. Shiki do not command—they listen, they follow, they serve. A frustrated sigh much like a demon's. The hand is pulled away and he returns to face the other way.

It's slight, but there is one last nudge of the horns before the sound of content breaths lull Matoba into sleep.

 

 

"In the case that more instances arise that I will be absent or preoccupied, I want to offer you something."

Natsume looks up from a spellbook, familiarizing himself with rituals developed by the clan, to blink at Matoba. His master is willingly offering something? As interested as he is, Natsume furrows his brows, a little suspicious. There is a catch to it, isn't there?

"What are you offering?" But he won't dismiss it. What could the offer be?

"A cut strand of hair."

The silver-haired shiki furrows his brows deeper.  _Angry_. "No. I do not want cut hair. If you do that, I will leave."

The exorcist chuckles, expecting this. "I figured as much. Here, then." A hand is offered out, an iris-colored silk ribbon on the palm. "I listen to you, you know. You say it's soft, 'like silk.'"

Natsume, mesmerized by its subtle shine and beautiful color, takes the object without a word. Pinching it between his finger and thumb, he runs his other fingers down the ribbon.  _Silk_.

It's beautiful and wonderful, despite being so simple. Natsume wants to express his gratitude, but he bites his lip, represses a strange shudder.

"I will determine if this suffices."

At first Natsume holds the ribbon, rubbing it between his fingers. There are times when he accidentally drops it, so then it is moved to his wrist. But if the wound ribbon is too loose on his wrist, it would get caught on a wood splinter or snag. The solution ends with it tied around his neck, wrapped around several times. It's always in reach and gentle against his skin.

Even when they are in each other's company, Matoba notices Natsume absentmindedly kneading the silk ribbon.

"The silk ribbon has kept you company."

Natsume jolts from his stupor to look at his master. A blush of embarrassment is clearly painted on his cheeks before looking away. "Master has been busy. Even though this isn't enough, I will accept this for now."

The offer is granted.


	8. The Curious Case of the Horned Shiki

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was bound to be misunderstandings.

 

It starts with a noticeable scratch on Matoba's back.

After the pitched release of the string on the arrow, someone chimes in.

"Damn, boss. What kind of ayakashi caused that?"

Pulling back his shoulders, one bare one clothed, Matoba furrows his brows at the man, confused by the inquiry. The brunette subordinate signals around to his own back to clarify, the other two men looking at him. Realizing that part of his back is also showing, Matoba laughs heartily and hums. "Oh it's fine. It's just Natsume. I always tell him to relax, but instead he just scratches harder." Another arrow is pulled from the upright quiver, aligning to the bow's notch. "It's like he has a point to prove. It's part of the contract. He can be clumsy, is all. Not to worry."

With no sound of acknowledgment from the subordinates, the bow and arrow are lowered, and Matoba turns around. The one who asked the questions has furrowed brows, a pursed mouth, and expression confused and mildly uncomfortable. Is there something strange about all of this? Sure, Natsume is his shiki, but he is still a demon in the end.

After a few more moments of silence, the youngest subordinate pipes in. "So, uh, what's it like then? Sleeping with a youkai?"

Matoba furrows his brows again. That's unfortunate; he thought Natsume was careful when sneaking into his room for a midnight hair grooming. They both have gotten lax, but it's nothing to worry about. It's only part of the contract. He'll humor their curiosity.

"It's quite nice, actually. He's surprisingly sweeter at night."

But he's only met with a suspicious silence again.

Looking back, this all began much earlier.

When Matoba shirks too much of his paperwork duties, Nanase will assign the three subordinates as reinforcement. He is a great and powerful leader, but he cuts corners when he thinks no one is looking.

Assigned with his own separate duties (to minimize distraction), Natsume strides by the room. The tense and focused atmosphere catches his attention. The silver-haired demon quietly steps to the room's door frame, finding the three humans lined against a wall, both to guard and prevent the clan head from leaving. Natsume blinks, a roll with his green eyes. What a lazy master.

The youngest subordinate flinches, back hitting the wall, when seeing the shiki peeking into the room. The other two take notice, cautiously watching the creature. They received strict orders from the secretary to prevent distraction from reaching the clan head. This youkai is the primary offender. On guard, they all silently observe.

Even with the distinct presence nearby, Matoba does not flinch nor turn around to acknowledge the shiki. Natsume furrows his brows and nose. He's almost like a statue, the only movement coming from hands working on paper writing and talismans. Sighing with a pronounced pout, Natsume blinks over to the guardsmen.

"How can he be so still when he works when he rolls around so much in his sleep?"

The youngest man's mouth drops open as the other two regard the youkai with incredulous looks. The youkai hums sadly, watching the clan head from the border of the door frame. The master continues working, hunched over the desk deep in work, unaware of the conversation.

Nanase herself has come across strange situations with the silver-haired demon. She finds the creature wandering the manor halls, looking a little lost. It's strange to find him without Matoba or by himself entirely. He is very good at hiding and sneaking around. The old woman approaches Natsume, inquiring to his wandering.

Natsume regards the woman for a moment. She is the aloof and diplomatic secretary to the Matoba clan head. Under her tough facade, she does has the best intentions; they are just presented harsh. She doesn't like to sugarcoat words. With her, Natsume doesn't need to play mind games (like he often had to do with Master), but he does have to be careful on disclosing Master's lax status to not get him in trouble. Right now, he doesn't need to worry about that. Master Matoba is nowhere to be found.

"Hmm," the secretary thinks aloud. "Perhaps he is taking a bath." The look she receives from Natsume indicates that wasn't the right suggestion.

The demon pushes out his lips, looking to the side. "No, that's not it. He would have told me."

The current clan head has always been a bit quirky. (Hiding beneath tables at meetings when younger, sleeping with wet hair, needing pens with at least three different point sizes, untimely jokes both intentional and not.) But this information stumps Nanase. The boss has never informed his servants of such a detail. With the peculiarity of how he handles this shiki, Nanase knows that she will nonetheless accept. "... yes, of course."

She has heard rumors, after all.

To this day, the three subordinates' subversion remains cautious. It doesn't go unnoticed. The oldest subordinate notices a figure sneaking into the clan head's bedroom one night. It causes quite a commotion. The three watchmen barge into the room, finding bright green eyes staring up at them from the futon, black hair already in hand.

"You're all acting strange today."  _Again_ , Matoba almost adds in. The resulting yawn is covered by a sleeve before he rubs between his eyebrows to wake into at least  _some_  coherency. There are times he notices oddity in their approaches and conversation. The silver-haired shiki nods in agreement, never releasing the hair from his grasp despite being pulled off and away from the clan head in the brief panic. Matoba hisses at the tug.

"Boss…" the middle-aged man starts, casting a quick glance to the youkai watching him with slitted eyes before continuing, "is this," a gesture to the spread of the futon, "part of the contract?"

"Oh, no… He's the one who demands it." The man tugs his head back to have Natsume release the hold on his hair. It tightens at first, but then the finger unfold.

The demon nods, looking to the three subordinates confused.

"Why would you want to sleep with the boss so bad?" the youngest poises the question to the shiki.

Again, Natsume gives him a confused look. "Isn't it obvious? He only has one thing I'm interested in. If I didn't use it, it'd be a waste."

From then on, the three subordinates agree to not talk about it anymore.


	9. Among the Bellflowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natsume reflects on the fateful day he met Matoba. Matoba reflects on the gifts that Natsume continuously blesses him with.

"I was drawn to you. I don't know exactly why."

If anything, there was a multitude of reasons.

Natsume is actually a very lonely youkai. It's not by choice. His existence resides on a different wavelength. Although he is a youkai himself, there are not many other spirits and otherworldly beings that can see him. As for humans, it is even more rare. Throughout his existence, Natsume can recall how many humans have been able to see him on one hand. And most tragically, Natsume  _likes_  humans. Their stories and lives are different and interesting. If he cannot talk with one, he settles to observe. But even that seemingly harmless activity may make them sick or paranoid or worried. Never wanting to see such fascinating beings in distress, Natsume restricts how long he stays around them.

Time slips by swiftly for humans. As for Natsume, it is always a bitter observation.

Something new, something exciting, eventually does appear. A small pack of humans, clad in dark clothing and reeking of ink and electric spells cross the field below. Their heads turn in many directions, an objective in mind of the organized outing. Natsume scrunches his nose, a whiff of sealing pots invading his senses.  _Exorcists._  He doesn't like dealing with those kind of humans.

Out of the small group, one in particular stands out. The human with hair reaching half-way down the back, neatly tied back, at the front. The healthy luster from the day's sun reflects upon the black hair in Natsume's green eyes. Humans could have such beautiful features.

Remembering his own field's beauty, Natsume glances around, graced with floral and shrubbery grown wild. He spots the section of purple bellflowers and walks towards it. Maybe he will pick some before heading back.

Below in the field, the youkai's ears perked to some voices. The human with the long hair has separated from the rest to look up and point in the demon's direction. The face is not what Natsume expected. There is unmistakeable white cloth tied over the right eyes, fringe falling over in an attempt to cover it. Speaking to those accompanying, they gather close, straining to see what is up and beyond.

Natsume's chest both drops and thumps. Do these humans see him? The group shake their heads, but that one human—the one with only one visible eye—continues his gaze. A step is taken in Natsume's direction.

Although wide-eyed and eager, Natsume grimaces, hand gripping the flowers too tightly. As much as he is excited and expectant and hopeful, he has to remain reasonable and wary. When was the last time a human saw him?

(Nearly 200 years.)

A little rushed, the silver-haired demon returns to collecting the purple flowers. Maybe he can arrange a brief magical friend for some company.

With several stems already pinched in hand, Natsume both hears and feels an oncoming presence. It's strong, a little intimidating, suffocating. Only dangerous or holy youkai exhibited this feeling. So the silver-haired demon lifts his head, in case an excuse needs to be made.

"Oya. Do you like these flowers?"

Shaken, Natsume flinches and turns to the direction of the voice. The darkly-clad human with one eye. This exorcist human  _can_  see him. Natsume, a mixture of excitement and fright, takes a step back. There is a bush nearby, as provided in his periphery.

"Those are my favorite."

Light green eyes blink back to the human.

No. He shouldn't hide. In fact, it feels like he couldn't.

Natsume assesses the exorcist up and down. When a gentle breeze skirts over the field, it catches both of their robes and hair. The length and shine of the black hair immediately grabs Natsume's interest like before. And strangely, it stirs something inside of him.

"I'm looking to form a contract with a youkai." The exorcist pauses, looking over Natsume as well, curious that this youkai's intent is so focused. "It seems that my clansmen cannot see you. You must be very powerful. I am as well. Would you be interested?"

A taloned hand reaches to grab the long strands that now cascade down the exorcist's shoulder. The stiff shudder isn't hard to miss. The smoothness is dragged with digits. A long-lost feeling bubbles up in Natsume's chest.

For centuries, Natsume has been without word or contact.  _Starved_. If he forms a contract with this exorcist, he can receive unlimited access.

"If you allow me you hair, I will form a contract with you."

The last thing Natsume remembers all those years ago was touching a beloved human's hair.

 

 

There are some things that even his colleagues and servants cannot see or understand. Even in this community, he can be suspected to be a liar or false soothsayer to make oneself seem more important. As the soon to be successor of the clan, Matoba Seiji had no reason for that trivialness.

Eventually, when his concerns and observations fell on empty ears, he knew not to say anything more on the deeper wavelength that only he could comprehend. Knowing that peers would dismiss him due to that and his youth, a new method had to be implemented to ensure humanity's safety. Of course, it wasn't ideal, but he would otherwise be dismissed. Matoba will nudge his clan, his comrades, his clients, in the direction he deemed more beneficial.

(Who else could he consult with, after all?)

He has always been regarded as an eccentric.

But then there are rumors and theories of rare youkai that cannot be seen by others due to its spiritual power. It can be by their own design—but oftentimes they came into being like that, born into that loneliness.

Because of Natsume's spiritual wavelength, no other clansman or shiki could see him, besides Matoba. For the time being, Matoba configures an unveiling circle onto a piece of paper. With that in place, both shiki and exorcists awe at the spectacular being–luminous silver hair, smooth pointed horns curved up from his head, cautious light green eyes, and a simple set of navy and off white robes. Although simple in appearance, the demon is much more than he lets on.

The isolation of seeing differently lifts immensely. This deeper world is not a rumor. It can be accessed if given the proper tools and guide.

Yet, Matoba realizes that he will still be alone in this struggle. The demon is wary, scared, and intrigued, cut off from interaction for a long time, it seems. It knows of youkai and humans and exorcists, but not their relations and unspoken rules of etiquette. But maybe that's for the best. A blank slate introduced to modern interactions, offering unbiased thoughts and mannerisms that are unfamiliar of the aforementioned.

 

 

Whenever Natsume carries out a surveillance check of the manor and nearby wilderness, he comes back with a souvenir from that visited area. Herbs, mushrooms, fallen leaves, a gift from an ayakashi. Oftentimes, they are flowers, the most common being a bellflower.

The souvenirs are adorable and thoughtful. He praises the little demon, who purses his lips and blushes embarrassedly.

"If you keep this up, you will deforest the area."

"No I won't," Natsume interjects quickly. Having a human say that to him is insulting to his very nature. "I do not take if there isn't an abundance. I offer my gratitude and blessings."

Satisfied with the answer, Matoba smiles and nods. Natsume's personality cannot be accurately depicted through appearance. At first it's a cold distance, but it is because of his uncertainty. Once warmed up, a gradual comfort further leads to more honest emotions (bristley to need to shyness). One thing is for certain: he is a very kind and selfless being.

"You are very thoughtful, Natsume. Is it like expressing gratitude and blessings to my hair?"

Just like the bellflowers, petals enclosed in the beginning, scared and stubborn, time and care will nurture them to bloom in purpose and beauty.


	10. A Youkai's Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions arise and later on they both admit to anxieties that continued to plague their thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst is starting to set in again. These two need more antics to level this out.

"Why 'Natsume'?"

The silver-haired demon lifts his head to Matoba. After so long, the curious subject is breached. The youkai was adamant on this name for the contract. Maybe now, due to their increased comfort, it can be asked.

Natsume takes a moment to answer. He blinks back to gazing across the decorative expanse of the manor's ground, from shrubbery to a koi pond, a red bridge, stone lanterns. This was never designed by his master, but he certainly enjoyed the scenery and mood it sets. A breeze rustles the silver fringe, pulling the demon back from a reminiscing. Bringing green eyes to the exorcist, who has since leaned closer due to curiosity, Natsume's lips twinge a fraction. The curious face Matoba has makes him look younger, approachable. That seal covering the right eye denotes otherwise, sadly, to both those points.

"My former master said my eyes reminded him of summer."

Matoba chuckles, agreeing. He pulls his body back to lean on his hands. "Your former master sounded poetic."

Natsume nods. Was it poetic? Although he was older in human years than Matoba, he doesn't remember the long-past human as someone very cultured. Compared to his current master, he was an amateur in his field, a fresh, untainted power. This was all a long, long time ago.

"I don't remember much, but… he liked to shirk his duties when given the opportunity."

Matoba laughs, instantly catching the jab meant for him. It could be a directive from Nanase or his own shiki scolding him. Either way, it is endearing.

It's difficult to remember, hurts a little, so searching such ancient memories needed to remain as just that. Not just for humans, but youkai as well.

"He was lonely like you, too." With that said, silence takes over.

There are reasons they were meant to stay 'lost'.

Realizing his mistake, Natsume averts his gaze back to the grounds.

Matoba deflates with a heavy exhale. Time and again this youkai will suggest that he is lonely. Never has that been discussed. But it's always mentioned, as if the youkai doesn't want Matoba—or himself—to forget. It's not so much irritating, but concerning.

"He had you as a friend, didn't he?" Looking over, he catches the youkai blinking, lips pursed and cheeks dusting pink.

He was a friend to that master. Right?

"Yes. I suppose." A confused kind of reluctance. Natsume turns away again, not wanting his expressions to be read by the exorcist.

A softer sigh through his nose, Matoba grimaces and adds, "Then he wasn't lonely. Neither am I."

_A friend._

Natsume whips his head to Matoba, mouth slightly agape and face much warmer looking. Having this human,  _this exorcist_ , say that feels  _forbidden_. He is a revered exorcist, a skilled human and a leader, part of a community that has a strict attitude and policy on spirits and creatures. As a demon, a creature that is often regarded in stories or experiences as troublesome, receiving such consideration could either be a joke or a dream.

"We're not friends, Master."

The exorcist's brows furrow, and then he frowns. "You don't return the sentiment?"

Natsume tightly purses his lips. An anger begins to bubble in his chest. With this master, and all the teasing he has endured, it likely could be a joke. But—the genuine face he wears says otherwise.

"I don't know."

So Natsume leaves.

 

 

The anger stays with him for the rest of the day. Duties assigned to Natsume are completed, but in a slowly paced manner. The clan head is avoided at all costs. It's a poor lie to say he doesn't have time to ponder on the discussion (spirits' and otherworldly beings' lifespans are drastically different from humans), so Natsume finds distractions separate from his master.

The conflict can only be kept at bay for so long.

Yes, Natsume wants a friend. But why with a human? They're such fragile things—sickness and emotions and social constructs and short lifespans. Investing in an attachment with a human always ends in disaster. Always the tragedies are by the human without fault. Always there are causes that spontaneously happen because is it the way fate controls them.

And by turn, it controls Natsume.

 

 

There is that stern look. No jokes or light-hearted conversation—his master summons him with a strong, unwavering voice. Still irritated (and upset and confused and shy), Natsume drags his feet behind the exorcist. Led to a room that is used for practicing spells and related work, Matoba gestures Natsume to one of the seat cushions that have been arranged beforehand. Natsume's brows furrow, lips pushing out in a pout for himself.

Although a bit stubborn, Natsume isn't one to act out. When it comes to broaching the personal past (or even present) without permission, his chest constricts with both anger and grief. He is prepared if reprimanded. He'll be careful to not reminisce so openly any longer. They are meant to be buried and forgotten.

Matoba observes the inner conflict on the demon's face, from skewed brows to pursed lips to rigid form. The green eyes look down in his direction, shaded by the seal tied around his head. Hopefully what the exorcist has planned will ease the demon's distress.

"Please remain there. I want to try something for you." Pointed ears perk at the words. "I don't mind where you look, or if you rather have your eyes shut. My request for you is to listen. If during you no longer wish to participate, you may leave at any point."

Tilting his head up, eyelashes blink against the seal's fabric. "Just that?"

Catching green with red, Matoba allows a very slight smile. With one nod, a scroll is procured from his left haori sleeve and is rolled out before him. Ancient letters in dry, dry ink on layered rice paper. The edges are cracked, but the document is thankfully intact. Matoba brushes his fingers across the ripples in the scroll, attempting to flatten the paper to overlook the beginning lines. Firstly, he needs to reassure the youkai before him.

"O-Demon, be at ease. With these words, prepared and arranged in accordance to your nature, the calm will come."

The words that follow reverberate around the room, intended for the silver-haired demon. They are ancient, particularly new to the master. There is a pause, a lick and swallow, and it starts again.  _A chant_. Natsume, a little frustrated at this, considers leaving, and—well, he has the permission as such by his master. Green eyes glance to Matoba's face. His eye is focused on the script, cheeks a brush of red. This strikes Natsume as strange. His master is skilled in chants and doesn't require texts due to memorization. Thus realizing, Natsume licks his lips, settling legs once restless.

Although the words have since lost modern usage, simply the power of a voice proves effective. It now penetrates, sinking, echoing deep shivers inside of him. The repetitive words persist, but the smooth tone is consistent. Natsume means for his eyes to remain open, but the lull brings them to half-mast. What truly has more influence in soothing? The chant, or his master's voice? Does the human know of this? Could humans be affected by the mere voice of another like this?

Natsume releases a heavy exhale built up in his chest. A calmness does swirl in, freeing the tight discomfort and anxiety from earlier. A warm, eased drowsiness, like drunkenness. Head feeling heavy, Natsume slants forward, eyes dwelling on lips expelling that shallow heat. A blink of black eyelashes and an eye returns the gaze.

"...I don't want to be a burden to you." Another pleasant breath in and out, unconsciously measured. The verse is finished and Matoba raises his head to assess the demon. Natsume is noticeably relaxed with unrolled shoulders and drowsiness in his green eyes. Despite the scrutiny on him, Natsume continues, "You shouldn't worry about me." When Matoba smiles softly, a nostalgic pain erupts in Natsume's chest. Unwittingly, a weak groan resonates from his throat and a deep frown settles once more.

Seeing and hearing this, the exorcist rolls the scroll to the side, moving himself closer before the demon. In spite of this shared serenity, his knees and hands are close enough to touch the other's, to rouse the demon if needed. There, he can return to repressions and defenses for his own undisclosed reasons, and Matoba to his own ignorance and deflection. But, defaulting to that would surely taint this progress. Maybe a simple touch to the demon's knee will ease the recoil to normalcy.

They both feel a connection of the tranquil flow through that touch. In turn, Matoba breathes out relief of the returned bond. A long kept wish finally lifts from years shamed.

"If I have ever obtained a shiki, I would treat it well."

With that said, moist green eyes fully shut and Natsume's head lowers to Matoba's shoulder. There's a pounding in his chest, an aching warmth. It must be his soul beating, delirious on this connection and feelings. (Demons don't have hearts, really.)

"I didn't expect becoming a shiki. Let alone enjoy it." The relaxed body slumps further onto the exorcist. 'Enjoy'?—not at all just that. Knowing and being acknowledged of his existence is plentiful. Coupled with constant attention placed on him gives much, much more. Being a servant isn't shackled obedience—there is pleasure in being useful with his skills. And there is pleasure in other things as well.

Nails dig into the front of Matoba's black haori. "Master… I also like it when you touch me."

A quiet chuckle is right against Natsume's burning ear. Matoba could not help the reaction; the statement is too vague. The youkai sustains most of his shudder. A red eye flickers to bone-white horns. Matoba sits on a thought, unsure if he is allowed to broach it. But, if it is not asked, he will not know.

"You don't like it when I touch your horns."

Natsume shifts his head so he can strongly declare, "That's wrong." Then, with a gentle shake of his head, chest tight and burning, he continues, "I  _do_. That's why I don't want you to."


	11. Direction and Perception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A house welcomes those who believe they belong.

"Don't rip off my precious hair!"

Matoba slows the motion of the brush going through his hair. A green gaze pierces him from the right side. Glancing back to the brush, Matoba notices several strands have been pulled between the bristles.  _Oh_.

There is a small growl from Natsume's throat.

"Alright, alright." Matoba concedes, petting down from the top of his head to gather the hair to the side. It is then offered to the demon. "Try to find me a little earlier so you can be the one to brush."

Natsume looks to the side, embarrassed and a little irritated. Quietly he responds, "I did try," before taloned fingers reach to the offering.

Although Natsume has been serving the Matoba clan head for a long time now, he consistently loses direction in the manor. Maybe it is because the residence is large and enchanted with seals. Even as a servant for the household, perhaps the seals still affect him. He hasn't admitted to any of this—how embarrassing would that be. Waiting for a wandering attendant, Natsume will follow after as if he too knew the way.

And of course, it happens again.

Of all times to get lost, it is right before an assignment at another exorcist's residence. Because of this, Matoba is about the manor, preparing and gathering materials, leaving Natsume behind in his unprepared frenzy.

As such, Natsume is irritated. Matoba should have instructed him to collect what was needed as well. The master is going to be late for this job. Before their departure, the demon hoped to have Matoba's hair for a short time. Taking upon the duty of tracking the exorcist, Natsume finds himself in a section of the third floor (maybe the second floor?) never previously explored.

Bothered, frustrated, and anxious, clammy fingers stroke the lilac ribbon cascading down his collarbone. This human will need to compensate. For now, this works.

It is not long before Matoba finds Natsume—far from the spot he told him to stay. There is a small crease between his brows, but it eases immediately upon the sight of the demon. Relief softens his lips. (Not hurt, not frightened—far from the initial concern.)

"Did you need my hair that badly that you are running around looking for me?" It is not hard to miss the small flush on Natsume's cheeks. It is also much too easy to tease him. Matoba adjusts the bag strap on his shoulder to gather his black hair mussed from prior activity. WIth a grin and the thick ponytail in hand, Matoba offers, "Would you like it now before we leave? Unfortunately I do not have a hair brush on me, but if you promise to be gentle, I will allow your excessively sharp nails."

The silver-haired demon balks and blushes at his master's words. The fingers tending to the ribbon squeeze, not pulling away. (A little too late.) "I don't need it  _now_ ," Natsume counters, brows furrowed.

Noticing the silk ribbon, Matoba smirks to himself before tossing the hair back and adding, "I suppose the contract is not beneficial to you anymore now that that ribbon has become the substitute."

Natsume pushes his lips out, turning his head to hide a red face before nodding. "You're right. It's useless."

 

 

Natsume doesn't like accompanying to other exorcists' residences. The feeling and scent and atmosphere are different. There are unfamiliar talismans and prayers used to guard the estate and its inhabitants, but most of all, they are used against those that don't belong.

Like  _Natsume_.

When a seal is placed around his head, his lips twitch. It's different than the usual. Someone else's handwriting and spirit is within that ink and it doesn't settle well with his spirit. The effect pulls heavily down on his body. Natsume clenches his fists to test its pressure and influence. A flexing that simple is difficult—his powers and freedom are greatly diminished.

Matoba recognizes the distress and softly ruffles Natsume's hair for reassurance. "I apologize, Natsume. The exorcist requires this seal to be used. It will be removed immediately once we're away from the property."

The genuine pet to his head makes Natsume's eyes flutter. With both hands, he takes his master's hand and weakly squeezes in response.

' _Thank you_.'

Overtime, the demon recognizes that not only is the seal restricting, but the energy contained makes him restless and itchy. There is only so long he can play with the master's hair before being gently reminded he is conducting business. Having recently a confrontation with the exorcist, Natsume decides to pull away to avoid another possible vulnerable session. With the limitations set by the precautionary seal, Natsume resolves to wander the building to expel the accumulating energy as the humans attend their exorcist meeting.

The residence isn't difficult to navigate. The Matoba manor is much more expanse. Yet, with this strange seal on him, the youkai finds himself increasingly disoriented. He furrows his brows and tsks. The halls and walls before him melt and bend, forcing him to pause a moment to consider another hall to walk. A thought crosses his mind, and Natsume scratches the thin tie around the back of his head. It doesn't budge. Unfortunately only his master can remove the seal.

Hearing voices outside, Natsume approaches a window to peer outside, lifting the seal to see better. There he finds the exorcists dispelling from the building. It looks like their meeting has ending. Green eyes scan the guests for his master. (Maybe Natsume can wash Matoba's hair for making him wait this long and donning another exorcist's seal.)

Of all things, Natsume will first tend that long, black hair.

Except—when Natsume turns around, the hallway has since changed and startles a gasp from him. Although there is a sinking feeling inside his chest and stomach, the demon dismisses it. He can find his way back; the house is much smaller than his master's. But, there still remains the compounding effects of the blessed house, placed talismans, and the seal around his head. Although the power in the seal is nowhere near the master's level, it is effective in hindering.

It's not long before fatigue and confusion exhaust the demon. With stunted breathing, he wipes sweat from his temple and peeks into a room, hoping someone ( _Master_ ) would be there.

Nothing.

Exhaling, frustrated and anxious, Natsume dismisses that fleeting and effortless hope. He has become accustomed to convenience. He shouldn't expect these desires so easily in an unwelcome place.

A hand reaches to pet the silk ribbon around his neck.

Several more yards away, he tries another room to find it bare and dark. Natsume whips his head to the side, thinking that if he can follow along the windows, he can locate an exit. Outside is also bare, and quiet besides a few distant birds' calls.

_No one._

Taking a shuddering breath, and a step back, Natsume carries further down the intentional maze of halls. The touch of the ribbon grounds the building panic—but—he can't help the inevitable. After several more turns and runs of confusion, a harsher coldness strikes Natsume. Desperately, the demon tries to remove the seal from frantically untying to ripping with nails. There are no tears, no wrinkles, no regained control.

He is stuck with this seal, caught in a trap to deceive youkai from invasion, separated from his master—the only being that has supported and understood him for so long—

An attempt of an inhale. A choke nearly catches.

Back against the wall lined with windows, Natsume slides down. He grips the silk ribbon, thumbing the smooth texture. A single item, nothing like many thin strands to pinch and pull and pet down. Hair would have been better in the end. It is a physical piece of Matoba, his master. Tugging a little more on the ribbon, dragging it down from his neck to feel  _more_  of— ...Yes. The precious, precious hair. Silk-like and strong and lustrous and aromatic and mesmerizing—to bury his face into, breathe in, know and feel his master there (breathing and warm and content)—

No.

The strand of hair wouldn't, or ever, be enough. Natsume doesn't miss the hair, doesn't fear that he will never return to it. It's Matoba.

"Natsume." The voice is just faintly covered stern.

The demon blinks up moist green eyes, one shielded by the paper seal. There, approaching not too far off, is his master, wearing a facade that hardly masks his panicked concern.

Natsume grimaces, relieved, but fights back his smile and tears not now wanting to explain. The concern makes him both happy and upset. The lilac ribbon is looped again around his neck and Natsume rises to meet the man.

"Because of the protection talismans here, I got lost," the youkai begins, an anxious heat filling him. Is this an explanation, or an excuse? It is not like he intends on this each time. "And I also… get lost at home, too."

Matoba considers the shiki's words and withdrawn frame. That shouldn't be happening in a place that is welcome. "I understand. You will still feel this place's effect, but it won't inconvenience you as much as this. You won't get lost if you're with me, right?"

When hands reach around his head, the demon flinches. But then the seal lifts, ice firing down his spine, mind unfogging, and restraints lifting. Nothing is crushing or confusing or inhibiting him any longer. The fingers are delicate and mindful to not knock against the protruding horns. It makes Natsume nervous and excited. Maybe Matoba should bump into them, not be so careful with him.

"No, I won't." Despite the heat on his cheeks, Natsume nods, eyes since dried. When was the last time he was able to see his master with both eyes like this, without a seal obstructing view? It is both liberating and vulnerable. He wants to keep looking, but also shield himself away from the exorcist's gaze. There's no longer a barrier, a distinct line that separates them.

"I will see what can be done at the manor. No wonder you sometimes miss out on your hair rituals." With a chuckle, Matoba turns about the hall, and Natsume naturally falls in step behind.

Green eyes catch the sway of the man's black hair against his back. A taloned hand reaches out, but it insteads grabs ahold of the black haori. Matoba doesn't say anything, and Natsume edges closer in stride, chest squeezing and full. Now, with the man's back to him, the realization is finally allowed to wash over him, causing a grimace both heartfelt and pained.

He loves Matoba.


	12. Their Honey-Coated Harmony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Discovering that Matoba is relaxed by sweets, Natsume takes the initiative to make some for his master.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains vomiting.

His hair is getting longer, Natsume notes. He listens to the ink dipped pen scribble coarsely down the paper. A dull method, nothing that intrigued him. Even so, he's so focused he wouldn't notice…

Natsume settles closer to the human's warmth, to the arm that isn't writing. The hair has fallen over the left shoulder there, obscuring a part of the desk and paper. As his servant, he should help him move it out of the way. The demon moves his hands to the table, then looks up to his master. No notice, no eye watching him with a glimmer or smirk.

Very carefully,  _gradually_ , the hands slide over to the cascading hair. The tips and strands tickle the knuckles of his fingers and he contains a shiver that runs through his body. Casting another shy look up, the master doesn't look over, doesn't notice. Natsume keeps his hands there, delights in the hair pooled over his hands, between his fingers, kneading very very carefully.

And still, Matoba does not notice, surprisingly being so focused with his work. The weight of the ponytail slumps forward even more, then finally making him recognize that it has been obscuring the desk and work. With his fingers, his gathers the splayed hair in a downward motion before tossing it over his shoulder.

Affronted, Natsume gawks at him with wide green eyes. That is  _his_! He just threw it over his shoulder, farther away from him when he was just playing with it. Caught between sulking and scolding his master, Natsume pushes out his lips, at least hoping the other to notice. But from here, he can see the determination and focus in his eye and posture and being. Conflicted, looking between his eye and lustrous hair, Natsume decides to simply observe (like before). (Although the hair  _is_  his.)

It's not long before there is a quiet rapping at the door. Immediately, the horned demon looks, green eyes piercing to the intruder. It is simply an attendant with a tray of refreshments. Thankful that it is not more stressful work for his master, Natsume's shoulders relax.

By now, it has become an unspoken rule to have approval of the clan head's shiki before entering or inquiring. The woman nods to the demon and enters the room with the tray. Atop of it is the typical tea pot and cups, but there is another plate—an assortment of white and soft colored morsels. Natsume's eyes stay vigilant to the tray as the items are placed down, especially the new assortment. The sides glisten like crystals.

When Matoba pulls back from leaning over his desk, Natsume follows the gesture. (Although, mostly curious as to why.) First he stretches, rolling his shoulders back and holding for a moment, and his hair falls back to the center of his back. Natsume's eyes follow, head turning to where the hair swayed to. The attendant has since admitted her leaving. Eye scanning over the assortment, the clan head selects a flower shaped morsel before bringing it to his mouth to eat.

Focus now shattered by this pleasant break, Matoba turns to look at the demon. The green eyes are inquisitive.

"Master, what are these?" They are pretty to look at—sparkly and colorful and petite. His eye catches one that is shaped and colored like a cherry blossom.

"These are higashi. They are tasty and I like them." A hand reaches for a bee-shaped candy next to the flower.

"Master, why are you having sweets? Are you celebrating?"

The exorcist chuckles. "Sweets help me relax."

Natsume watches the bee candy reach Matoba's mouth before his eyes swipe over the human's head and shoulder to where the black hair rested.

It becomes quiet again. Matoba continues his assignments, appreciating the lull that has settled. Although Natsume's hands itch to pet down those black strands, the human's calm breathing makes him reconsider and simply  _watch_  and ponder.

Being a servant to this exorcist… Shouldn't he make sweets as well? Natsume peeks at the treats again, now nearly gone by his master's apparent enjoyment of them. But then Natsume pushes out his lips in slight annoyance. Despite realizing the obligation to assist, Natsume has no idea how to approach this food. The only "sweets" that come to mind are from so long ago. There are popular treats that he had observed other ayakashi create and share. Maybe he can introduce his master to this sweet.

Nails delicately lift strands of hair, twisting and coaxing down. Matoba hums contently at the gesture. Natsume then decides, hiding a smile behind the exorcist's back.

On solitary patrols of the forest, the demon searches for a variety of ingredients. The ayakashi of the area are sparse, so unfortunately he cannot inquire about the locations of some items. Thankfully everything is able to be collected, especially the sweetness factor Matoba is fond of.

Natsume considers the small and white bell-tiered flowers, and plucks off a stem cluster. He turns it in his hand. The plant is pretty—maybe Matoba will also appreciate it.

 

 

"Master," Natsume quietly calls. But this human, ever attentive on him, looks up. A nervous excitement fills the youkai, but he doesn't dare dip his head. After all, this is something the exorcist would expect of a servant. With a small clearing of his throat, a platter of treats is outstretched. They are small, dark green ovals, dusted with flour, and topped with a light gold glaze on a thin napkin. "You said that you like sweets. That they help you relax."

Despite his astonishment, Matoba smiles softly from Natsume to the sweets. He doesn't remark on the demon's hawk-like vigilance (often reserved for times he is minding the man's hair). A treat with a napkin is plucked from the platter and placed on the table. "What a nice surprise. I wasn't expecting such a kind gift, Natsume."

At his name, Natsume looks to Matoba, swallowing against the lump in his throat. Too shy to respond, he nods his head, lips pressed flat.

When biting in, Matoba tastes the soft bitterness of mugwort embedded within the rice's sticky texture. Thankfully, the glaze flows down, tingling his tongue with light saccharine nectar. The treat's center awes and delights him with a berry jam. This is a kind gesture of spring. If only Natsume did more of these kind of surprises.

"Thank you, Natsume. It is delicious."

It's hard to fight against the smile lifting his lips. Hoping that the exorcist hasn't seen this, the demon angles his head away, paper seal shielding a part of his face.

But of course the exorcist would catch something like that. A hand gestures the youkai closer. Although still shy, Natsume kneels beside Matoba, plate still in his hands, and his silver hair is gently pet. The praise is always so nice—fulfilling and courteous and mindful. He shuts his eyes and bows to the touch.

Once the plate is set on the table, Matoba is tempted to shirk his work (as usual). Having the shiki's observation deters him otherwise. He sees him glancing over his work. It is something that doesn't need much concentration. Matoba will be able to sufficiently enjoy the treat and work simultaneously. As someone who often requested breaks or shirked, this may be the happy medium Nanase has been looking for. Maybe Natsume has perfected that wish unintentionally.

As Matoba unwinds with a few more sweets, Natsume relaxes next to him. The sweets worked, he thinks to himself, biting the inside of his lip to quell a smile. He didn't think or consider how much this gesture would affect him besides Matoba. Glancing to the right, the horned youkai regards the man's face, exposed eye scanning over his work and mouth thoughtfully chewing.

A slight movement near the man's jaw startles Natsume. Green eyes lock onto a loose strand slipping dangerously between the shoulder and back. Natsume reaches up to brush it back into place, but when Matoba takes another bite and swallows, he begins to cough. Immediately the youkai pulls back and makes a sour face, thinking the exorcist is now playing a prank on him.

To ease the coughing, Matoba takes in a deep breath, but his lungs instead stutter and quiver as if there was no air. A collapsed heaviness has since pressed in, making his breaths labored, and wheezing. Matoba pushes air out through his nose before slightly shaking his head. Adjusting the pen in his hand feels strange, like it is slipping out of his grasp. He pulls back the other palm, unoccupied. The movement makes known an unmistakable clamminess.

Then Matoba's brows furrow, further ailments forthcoming. The room is becoming too warm. He swallows, but it's thick with saliva and the lingering taste of honey. These sensations feel familiar, tingling and numbing and depressing. When his stomach twists, he grips the table to brace against it, to not make a distressed noise for Natsume to hear.

Amidst the throes of numbing heat and burning ice, it travels down and builds in Matoba's abdomen. In attempt to manage, he breathes through his mouth. The sudden onset of symptoms only escalate. His heart rate increases, visibly shaking the front of his clothes. Sweat cascades down his chest and neck and forehead. Heaving what he can of a sigh, he tucks back a loose hair strand from sticking to his face.

It is a farce, the youkai reasons to himself. Natsume looks away from the human, disappointed in the joy he expressed earlier. "You don't have to lie if it wasn't good. If you are making a joke, it isn't funny at all."

The agony inside his body distracts Matoba from responding. The heat and sweat and discomfort are pooling. The table before him looks like it is wildly shaking. Shutting his eyes eases a part of the dizziness, but now it is like he is spinning.

Because the master hasn't responded, the demon quirks his head. It is not like Matoba to be silent for opportunities to tease. "Master," Natsume prompts to determine if the other is listening. But there is only loud, struggled breaths and a bowed head. Natsume clings to the feeling of irritation (instead of encroaching panic) and nudges again. " _Master_."

No response. Natsume tries again and again, voice growing noticeably more strained, more pained to the unresponsive, simply breathing figure before him. This hasn't happened before. What if it gets worse, and if so, what was there that he can do? The panic is allowed to break through for just  _one_  word.

" _Seiji_."

It feels disgraceful and disrespectful coming off his tongue and lips. Without permission, Natsume crossed such a definitive boundary between them. And, as hoped, it elicits a response from Matoba. His face gradually lifts to Natsume's from the table, eye glassy and face conflicted and sweaty and unsure why he was addressed like that.

But—it's helpful to him. Grounding.

After a stabling moment, "Washroom," Matoba weakly gasps.

Despite the twinge of panic and doom sickening inside of Natsume's chest and gut, he has to crush that compulsion to collapse into it. If he stops to think, he will surely fall apart. It is clear from the master's voice and body language that he is braving against something severe.

Gathering a few more breaths, fringe stuck to his forehead, Matoba attempts to get up with shaking arms pressed to the table. The body, sweat-drenched cold, aches and spasms in protest. The stomach twists and pulls, saliva pooling in his mouth, nausea rising.

The silver-haired youkai offers his arms for the human to grasp. When hands grab onto them, Natsume can feel clammy sweat sink through his kimono's sleeves. Gathering much of his unused ability, Natsume guides them to the room's adjoining washroom.

Strength finally leaving Matoba's legs, he collapses on his knees, jostling the other once holding him upright. Opening the toilet bowl lid, he braces and anticipates the sick churning inside of him. A few deep breaths—then heaving.

Seeing this, Natsume kneels beside and pulls back the human's black hair. It isn't entirely unkempt and knotted; he was just beginning the nightly ritual moments before. As much as he wants to untangle and fuss with the hair, to pretend this illness wasn't happening, the owner's tremors and heaving persist. Strands are instead brushed away from the man's clammy and pale face. The lips are dehydrated and dull, far from a human's standard vitality. Natsume's own lips twitch in a frown. He feels Matoba shuddering through holding the hair.

The hair slips out through Natsume's weakened grip, and his chest twinges. Matoba feebly rises, flushing the toilet. The whole frame staggers, reaching for the wall or other furniture to steady.

Natsume is not being attentive. He's not doing enough for Matoba. He isn't helping him. He's  _useless_.

When Matoba reaches the sink, his mouth and face are rinsed. Despite his face and body still being in a sickly sweat, he cannot muster the strength to address that. A few more deeper breaths are collected in the uncomfortable silence. The lingering illness is swallowed.

Although the uncertainty and doubt has began to rattle his resolve—the armor that deflects worry and assumes usefulness—Natsume dismisses the expanding crack. "Master Matoba." His voice comes off firmer and louder than usual, a ruse against the want to waver and collapse. But arms (barely stable) extend to support the human again. There is hesitance from Matoba of falling into them, so the demon coaxes again. "Let me help you rest."

A long moment passes before there is a stiff nod from the exorcist. Once guided out of the washroom, Natsume eases him down against a wall to then rush and gather the futon and pillows in the closet. He makes quick work, knowing that his sick master is both waiting and watching him. No stopping. No thinking. No considering what the throbbing in his chest means.

Hurried feet stumble with the bedding. They shift and topple messily to the ground from the pile in his arms. Natsume follows after the bedding, hurriedly spreading out the futon, hands brushing wildly across to smooth the bumps and comforter. The time is getting closer; he won't be able to dismiss and escape the imminent reprimand. What mistake will it be? Accusing Matoba of joking? Addressing him intimately without permission? Not being as helpful as he could be?

When Matoba is helped over, and reclines in the futon, that silence is broken as does Natsume's earlier established resolve.

"Natsume, what was in the treat?"

Although Natsume stops his fussing and fluffing, he hesitates to look up at the exorcist. He made a mistake. He really did. A heaviness presses in his chest, beginning to crush, and his arms become weighted and immobile. He makes sure the seal covers his face, ashamed of all the possibilities it could be and the resulting tremble of his lips.

Obediently, yet shakily, the youkai starts naming them off in a quiet voice. "There was sweet rice. Dream tooth leaves. Indigo berry. White valley nectar."

But the exorcist doesn't respond. Lifting up his head, Natsume finds the reaction is not what was expected or hoped. Matoba has a soft frown, eyebrows pressed confused. "I'm sorry… I do not know the names of those, besides sweet rice. Would you be able to draw them for me?"

The lacking strength in the exorcist's voice pains Natsume. Feeling a burning tightness in his throat and jaw, Natsume shuts his mouth and nods, moving to locate paper and an ink tool from the desk. Following back, the demon dejectedly sits close, haphazardly digging the ink pen into paper.

"Th-these," the paper is lifted up, a messy drawing of a plant and its soft tooth-like leaves, "are dream tooth leaves. The leaves are green and soft, they sprout from the ground come spring and smell very good." There is already panic in his voice, but Natsume swallows, pushing the paper to the floor and grabbing another.

_Mugwort_ , Matoba thinks to himself. He takes in a breath to ground from the aftereffects of the sickness, waiting for the next drawing.

The ink is messier this time, hands trembling so slightly. There are stretched, colored-in ovals hanging from twigs in a cluster, like small mountain grapes. "Indigo berries. They're sweet, purple and blue."

_Haskap_. Matoba nods and Natsume tosses the paper down for the next.

This drawing takes a little longer. There is more detail to be added, from the many stems and flora. When drawing, ink is smudged on the sides of his palms, not sufficiently dried enough when passing over the paper. The pen is placed onto the stack of discarded paper, and the new one is presented to the exorcist. It is a waterfall of small bell-shaped flowers cascading over other clusters. "White valley nectar. It comes from these flowers."

Matoba squints his eyes at it. He has seen these before in the area, but has not seen them among the foraging baskets. "What color are these flowers and stems?"

Green eyes dart from the human to the floor and drawings. Dread and shame rising and rising. He thinks to swallow, but his throat is dry. The colors are bright in his mind; he has the plant tucked away, hidden for a later surprise. "White flowers. Red stems."

The exorcist grimaces. "Natsume… These are poisonous to humans. Do you know how much was in it?"

Natsume feels his jaw tremble, wetness blurring his vision. He made a terrible mistake, something unforgivable.

He can't give those flowers to him. He needs to throw them out immediately.

"Not a lot. I couldn't extract much from them." The voice turns hollow, attempting to separate from the realization. Hot tears fall down his cheeks. Mortified, Natsume's face heats up, and hands reach up to fidget with the ribbon around his neck as a distraction, as a less damaging replacement.

Seeing this, Matoba furrows his brows. Although his motions are noticeably weaker, he beckons the other closer. "Natsume, there is no need to do that. My hair is right here." Thankfully, the mistake was able to be handled quickly without intervention. If he had to request a clansman or Nanase to help, they would consider this an attack on the clanhead like older attempts.

Natsume ducks his head and looks away. Nails scratch at the ribbon anxiously. Despite the distraught appearance, the demon constructs a falsely collected voice. "I don't have the right to do that…"

With a small chuckle through the scratchiness in his throat, Matoba continues, "My hair is yours. Did you forget?"

Natsume shifts, a wet eye peeking around the seal, a deep frown that refuses to let up. It's true, but—he really hurt Matoba. "I did not forget," a crackly mumble.

"And not just my hair is yours, as well."

Taken off-guard by the added comment, a few pangs thump in Natsume's chest before he tries to respond. It is possible to deem this as a delirious statement, but Matoba  _is_  a bold person. The demon takes a breath, frustrated that the human seemed to dismiss the ailment just moments ago. "You are taking your mortality so easily. It—"

A hand then reaches out to Natsume's shoulder, bringing him closer. "It turned out fine, right? Besides, it was worth eating those treats even though they were poisoned." A sardonic smile curves Matoba's lips as the hand brushes pale strands, a knuckle grazing the base of a horn.

A small gasp, but Natsume refuses to fall into Matoba's distractions. The words he used just now are bewildering. The silver-haired youkai crosses his brows. "Why would you say that? The treats hurt you."

Matoba shuts his eyes and leans back a little more, hand moving to hold Natsume's upper back to follow him to lie down. Behind his eyes, he recalls the shy turn of Natsume's head, catching just enough of a sweet smile. The tips of the man's fingers gently tug and twist the silver ends. "If it meant I could see that rare smile again, I would eat sweets even knowing they were poisoned."

Not expecting such an answer, Natsume blushes and turns his face away, embarrassed and nervous that he was still looking directly and openly with his master. That comment only adds further to the abundant conflict that pecks at his mind and soul.

This is different, Matoba thinks to himself, but then the horned youkai softly speaks.

"...Do you like my smile as much as I like your hair?"

Matoba smiles, taking a breath and his time with the response. "Yes. There are also a lot of things I like as much as you like my hair. Like your horns."

This makes Natsume freeze, chest fluttering and hot. There is small lull between the two, green eyes inquisitive to red. With no warning, he grabs Matoba's hand and guides it to the top of his head. "Do you still want to help me feel calm?"

Of course, Matoba thinks to himself. It looks like he does not need to recall that ancient chant from that uncomfortable day. Natsume is sure about the method he is requesting. With a small smile, the exorcist softly confirms, "Yes."

Natsume spreads out Matoba's fingers with his own, guiding it to his right horn. He shows him the gentle motion of how to stroke and brush and apply pressure. Once established, the taloned hand falls away and the demon peacefully melts into the futon.

From light brushing to gentle pets, the exorcist becomes more bold and focused for the youkai's request. The horns are cool and smooth and polished. The youkai sinks further into the futon, the continuous stroking guiding him into a tranced lull. As Matoba's hand wanders (down to pet the silver hair, to brush the edge of a pointed ear), so does his mind.

"Am I allowed to stroke your horns whenever now like how you stroke my hair whenever you want?"

There's a shift beside him, and eyelashes flutter half-open to reveal summer green.

"...Yes."

Be it mercy or embarrassment, Matoba doesn't mention to Natsume that he didn't tend to his hair at all.

They both ease into a healing rest. But body not being one like a human's, Natsume does not doze for long. The slumber felt like a second, but the dim orange light cast into the room reminds him otherwise. A second compared to hours.

Green eyes carry across the room, then landing on the plate of sweets that were prepared earlier. He feels his brows tighten and mouth press tightly together. Although angry, at these innocuous treats, there is that awakening reminder of dread. It is another horrible reminder of what it means to be a youkai or a human, how different they are, how fragile a human can be.

The green mochi are small and quaint compared to Matoba, his build and manners and personality strong and steady and dependable. Despite that, an overlooked and unconsidered sweet is enough to ruin that image and person.

This thought  _terrifies_ him. It is inevitable; dread resurfacing.

Carefully, Natsume slips from the futon, leaving behind the comforting warmth behind him. He keeps his eyes trained on the sweets as he approaches them on the low table. Anger swells again inside of him. Taloned fingers bend, considering to swipe the mochi off the table, or even smash them into bits. A hand shoots out, mind reflexively wanting to destroy something that hurt someone special to him.

But a quiet rustle perks the demon's pointed ears, and his hand stops. Peeking over his shoulder, sharp green eyes catch the master's sleeping face. A dull drumming sounds in his chest. He is resting; he can't cause him anymore trouble. He can't hurt him like this again.

The platter is instead picked up, and the contents are disposed in the bin near the room's door. A final glare is aimed at the sweets, directing what is left of his anguish and fear and anger. Then, returning the platter to the table, Natsume approaches the futon, eyes softening at the human's tranquil-looking face. Tapered fingers reach out to Matoba's cheeks, digits carefully pressing into the skin and enchanted seal that covered his right eye. Natsume lowers his head down, pressing his forehead to the other's, taking a quiet breath.

A hand gently sweeps through silver hair up to a horn, startling the demon. Although Natsume could only see through a half of his seal, he could tell that Matoba is only half-awake by his weary eye. Restraining shy panic, the youkai pulls back his hands, and slips beneath the futon once more, pressing into the large warmth before him.

He simply wants to cling to this blissful denial.


End file.
